Page 110 of Sweet Little Thing

Taking the chair across from her, I sat down.

“Winston,” she said in acknowledgment.

“Hello, Hilda.” She knew I hated being called by my first name. The one my father had given me. But I didn’t correct her.

“I would like to say that it’s nice to see you, but we both know that’s a lie.” Her smile was gone, replaced with a smirk.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me. It’s important.”

She shrugged. “It’s pointless, Winston. You know it is. Why you are still intent on doing this, I don’t know. It’s a waste of your time and money. He’ll never give Wills up.”

I didn’t expect him to. But if Wills was mine, I would take him. If he was only my brother then I’d find another way to get him free of my father.

“Life with my father is a living hell for anyone. You know that. How can you so easily accept the fact he has Wills? As a mother, don’t you want to protect him?” I asked this, knowing the answer already. Hilda was selfish. She only cared about her plans. Wills wasn’t included in those plans.

“I didn’t want to be a mother, Winston. You know that. I wasn’t cut out to be a mother. I’m not the motherly type.”

I grimaced. She sounded so much like my mother. The damage Wills had already suffered because of her and my father would be hard to repair. Every day he spent in my father’s skyscraper on Billionaire’s Row, it only grew worse. I didn’t want him to have my life. He deserved more.

“Obviously.”

She looked at me with a bored expression and continued drinking her champagne. “When was the last time you saw Wills?” I asked.

She frowned. “I think in April, maybe?”

Wills had told me it had been February since she’d last visited him. She’d patted his head and talked on her phone the entirevisit. I wanted him to talk about how she treated him and how it made him feel. I hoped that having him face it would keep him from withdrawing and letting the bitterness darken him, as it had me.

“You don’t care what happens to him. You’ve made that clear. But I do. Even if he’s my brother, I don’t want him to grow up like I did. I’ve got to save him.”

She lifted her left shoulder slightly. “You turned out just fine. Successful. Happy. Was your privileged life in Manhattan really that difficult for you?”

I laughed. My laugh held no amusement but disgust. She honestly thought I had turned out fine. Because I had been raised with wealth? The shallowness that consumed this woman was hard to be around. I didn’t want to talk to her. If I could do this without her, I would. But she was Wills’ mother.

“Money and success don’t equal happiness, Hilda.”

She raised her eyebrows as if what I’d said was ridiculous. “Winston, you have never wanted for anything. Not once. I was cold in the winter, I went to bed hungry every night, and my mother either made my clothes, or they were found in trash bins thrown out by others. I lived in poverty. I watched my mother die from a cough that eventually consumed her in a frigid, little one-bedroom shack. That is real fucking life. What Wills has is everything I didn’t. I love my son, and I know that he has more than I ever imagined.”

I’d never known anything about Hilda’s youth or family. And although that was a sad story, I still asked, “Did your mother try to keep you warm? Did she beat you or call you names to belittle you? Did she take care of you when you were sick? Did she love you?”

I stopped and waited for her to respond. Hilda tensed, and I watched her take a deep breath through her nose. I’d hit a nerve. She finally gave me a tight nod. That was it.

“Yes, she beat you? Or yes, she took care of you the best she could? She loved you?”

Hilda cut her eyes away from me. “She did the best she could.”

“Did you feel loved?” I repeated.

There was no response for several seconds. When Hilda finally turned her gaze back to me, she said, “Yes. But love didn’t feed me or keep me warm. Love didn’t give me a fortune.”

She was right about one thing. I’d never been cold or hungry.

“A child needs love just as much as they need warmth and food. The lack of love damages you. I want Wills to feel loved. I don’t want him hiding because his father will get angry with him and throw him on the ground, kick him, call him names, use brutality to make him a man. That fear never goes away, even as an adult who can easily handle myself. It’s there in my nightmares, reminding me that I had been weak once. I had been alone. Like Wills feels now.”

Hilda sighed, took the napkin from her lap, and placed it on the table before she stood up. “I can’t keep doing this with you. We are not going to agree on what is best for Wills. If he’s your son, I know he’ll have just as much advantage in this world as if he is your father’s son. Do whatever you think you must. But leave me out of it. I gave Wills up before he was born. That prenup made sure of it.”

Hilda picked up her purse and tucked it under her arm.

“I swabbed the inside of his mouth while he slept during my last visit. I’ll know if he is my son or brother soon,” I told her. “If he is, I will fight for him. If he isn’t, I will still fight. Even if you won’t, I will.”

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